


it's just the lights coming on

by jawtitan (artyskepty)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:05:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artyskepty/pseuds/jawtitan
Summary: A year into training, an unspoken arrangement grew between the two. Like most things between them, it was bound to happen eventually. It became plain that there was some need – hungry, clawing - in both of them that could only be fulfilled by the other. (sombre berumins in training, whole lotta talking, weird relationship dynamics, maybe I'll expand on this concept in the future?)





	it's just the lights coming on

**Author's Note:**

> So take a self-indulgent ficlet for my rarepair that I wrote about a fortnight ago. My perfectionist ass is telling me to add more and more detail to this, but this was only ever meant to be a fun saddish thing to whittle away some free time, so I'll post it as is.
> 
> I can't even begin to explain to you how invested I am in these two as a rarepair. It's gone on for four years. It's not good for me, man.

A year into training, an unspoken arrangement grew between the two. Like most things between them, it was bound to happen eventually. It became plain that there was some need – hungry, clawing - in both of them that could only be fulfilled by the other.

It wasn’t often they could catch time together: intimate conversation when the buzz of their more animated comrades migrated, meagre hours sharing a bunk in silence, a few summer nights; bodies and mouths pressed against each other as muted chatter trickled drowsily from the mess hall.

Once, when brave enough to take the risk, they had taken a walk through the woods past curfew. It was nothing they hadn’t done before, kids will be kids, Shadis be damned, and Reiner and Eren knew how to make a dangerous foray seem relievingly light-hearted. But without those two comforting presences the pair were used to, certain barriers seemed to break down.  
So they’d talked that night, under the trees.

“I don’t know what we’re doing here,” Bertholdt sighed, breaking the small talk which was seeming more like total silence by the minute. The two had an understanding, a cold, blunt intimacy that didn’t really accommodate anything more surface-level than a comment about a mutual friend. They’d reached a point where communication was less necessary – they knew what they were doing and why they were doing it. It was this point in his train of thought that Bertholdt realised how redundant his comment was, and regretted it quickly.

A younger-sounding voice from behind him echoed his silent chidings.

“Of course you do.” The voice said somewhat mutedly, stifling a yawn. “It’s just hard to put into words.”

Armin’s tiredness could easily be mistaken for solemnity by those unfamiliar to him. It only made sense, he was a sad person, and from the stories Bertholdt had heard, he knew he had every right to be.

Suddenly saddened, he just nodded in response, hugging his legs close to his chest as he watched the stars. The stars were something he’d miss when he finally got home; the light pollution in the internment zone couldn’t accommodate such breath-taking clarity. Even his training camp had been lined with streetlamps.

No time for walks in the woods in those days, which is maybe why Reiner had brought them out here so quickly after enlistment.

A sudden hand on his arm jerked him out of his withdrawal. From where he’d been lying back, watching the stars, Armin had settled himself into a sitting position next to Bertholdt. That tired-sadness - it was in his eyes, too.

“Can I get a little closer?” Is all he asked. Bertholdt nodded, feeling like he should be alone but simultaneously craving the contact, and Armin shuffled up until they were shoulder-to-shoulder. Sharing their warmth in the chilled night air was pleasant. It almost made his other doubts melt away.

After a few moments of silence that stretched out to near-impossible lengths, Armin spoke up again, his voice now shored up with greater purpose, robbed of its languidity.

“Do we need something more?” He asked, the question agonisingly vague yet completely understandable to Bertholdt. They were physically close, for sure, yet there were some trains of thought they hadn’t yet completely entertained. He knew his own reasons: intimacy was an uphill trek for Bertholdt, and Armin understood that even if he couldn’t grasp or even try to comprehend the true reasons why. And to him, Armin still seemed impossibly young in face and voice, and even at times in thought. Fragile. He wondered if that would ever change – after all, there would always remain a gaping chasm between them, no matter how close they grew. He didn’t want to cause undue harm to someone he called his friend.

“Maybe,” Bertholdt finally said. “But not right now.”

Perhaps the bluntness was too much, but it was what he’d grown used to with the young blond clinging to his side. “This is just a thing we’ll have now, and then we’ll see what comes next.” He continued. “Maybe nothing will come next.”

He was unsure of that, for there was an abstract and unspoken desire for mutual closeness between the two of them. They could be soft and contemplative like tonight, passionate like during those first summer nights when youth and high anxieties collided, or almost cold, intimate but loveless, when there was nothing left to fill the gaps. He’d never experienced anything like it before.

Armin nodded.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to talk to Reiner eventually. I just think you should do it before it’s too late. Military Police or not, things aren’t as simple as they were when we were kids.” Bertholdt stiffened at the response, and he wasn’t sure which part of it had sent tendrils of anxiety probing through his chest. His situation with Reiner wasn’t as simple as it used to be, and the fact that the boy beside him - with his distant blue eyes, always in thought - perceived something more than friendship between him and Reiner was seriously discomforting.

“It’s not like that.” He protested meekly, the stress in his voice betraying his flusteredness.

Armin just shrugged. “I’m not speaking for you, and maybe I am wrong, but he seems positively smitten with you. I’ve seen it before, you know, the way he acts around you.”

Bertholdt let out a nervy and somewhat incredulous bark of laughter.

“What, are you some kind of love expert now, too? What don’t you know?”

“Just forget I said anything, then. Maybe I’m wrong.” He could tell from the way Armin let the topic drop that he in no way thought he was in the wrong: he just didn’t want to make an argument of it. It almost infuriated Bertholdt sometimes.

And Reiner… was someone he didn’t want to dwell upon. Maybe that’s why he was out here instead, sharing warmth with someone he could feel many, many emotions about at once, without a single one bearing any resemblance to love.

Bertholdt dragged his gaze away from a spot on the floor that he’d been inspecting for the past few minutes, and realised under the light of the moon how Armin’s face had reddened slightly, the normally cloudy look in his eyes replaced with a sharper disgruntlement, like he’d been caught out. This observation surprised Bertholdt, because there was something overwhelmingly familiar about it. After all, it was the same way he had withdrawn only moments before.

He suddenly got the impression he knew what Armin had meant when he said he’d ‘seen it before’. Perhaps Armin had someone he’d rather not dwell upon too.

That thought was equal part comforting and worrying enough that, finally, he made himself say it.

“Do you love me?” A question he’d been agonising over for months. He knew the answer - both of them did - but the question was essential either way.

Perhaps a better wording of the question would have been ‘Can you love me?’, because as Armin slowly shook his head, deliberately blinking away the small tears forming in his eyes, his answer was: “I can’t.” and Bertholdt knew with certainty he’d have said the exact same thing.

“I don’t know why we couldn’t just stay friends. It was like this was almost inevitable.” Armin continued to shake his head as he spoke, the gesture of denial morphing into one of disbelief. There was still a part of this that he didn’t understand, and while Bertholdt was content to leave it unknown, unspoken, it was the kind of situation Armin could not stand. “Despite all this,” he says, visibly struggling to summon such simple words. “I don’t. I can’t.”

Bertholdt sighed, turning his face to the moonlight. “That’s a relief.” He says.

Moreso than Armin could ever imagine.


End file.
